The Motivation
by Red On My Ledger
Summary: An in-depth look into why Jackal does the things he does. Told in his point of view. Please R&R and READ MY NOTE THAT IS STRATEGICALLY PLACED BEFORE THE STORY STARTS!


NOTE: Ok, I haven't read all of the manga (just bits and pieces) that much but I know parts. Some of it is purely how I want it to be as opposed to the facts (like where he's from). Just enjoy it and R&R with the knowing that I do know that some of it isn't accurate-it's just for amusement. On with the story!

People wonder why I am the way I am. Why I do the things I do. What it is like to be heartless, cold, uncaring. I have no issues telling them the answers to these questions, none at all. The trouble about this is that the majority of the human population still will not comprehend my responses. They will either find them boring and colorless or batty and psychotic. I do not mind, for I am a bit of a "lunatic" as some of my fellow professionals might say. But what they do not understand is that even a lunatic like myself has a reason. A motive. That drives them to act the way they do.

Some people believe that murderers have some kind of bleak and heartbreaking back story, involving family problems and drugs, but what most do not know is that that is only true on occasions. I, myself, come from a very clean-cut background. My father was a successful lawyer and my mother was a nurse. My brother and I would always joke about the morbid, we found it somewhat fascinating that a person could commit such a horrid act as murder. He found it sick, I found it funny. We were close, until college came. We went our separate ways, I chose the medical field and he chose journalism. He always was a fantastic writer.

After going through medical school, which I completed way before the other people my age, I became a surgeon. It was then that I got chosen to work as one of the surgeons in a war. To help people. It was either I go willingly or I go with a sedative, and I chose the easy root (I think that is the last time that I have ever done so). I had to move from New York to Japan, which I tell you was a drastic change in both climate and culture. It wasn't a big war, but there were enough machine gun wounds to need doctors. On my first day there I met a soldier named Semimaru, he helped me severely. I honestly believe that he should have become a translator. At any rate, he had a son who was also a soldier. His wife had left him and his son for another man a year before, which even I found to be a bit tear jerking. His son was around my age so we got along pretty well, we could talk about music, movies, girls, television, so on and so forth. I also got along well with Semimaru. We could have intellectual conversations about classic literature and science while still laughing at jokes about breaking into a house but then realizing that all one wanted to do was just kick a door down. I knew them for six months, and the three of us had become very good friends, before all Hell broke loose.

The day started off as normal as ever. Get a patient, remove a bullet, patch them up, and give them a bed. But then I got a patient. It was Semimaru's son. He practically had his arm ripped off and he had already lost too much blood by the time he was brought to me. You know how doctors say that there was nothing they could do, well this was one of those cases. He took his last breath within two minutes from when he got in the operating room. His father got wind of the news and automatically blamed me. Blamed me for something that was genuinely out of my control.

I cannot say that I have never felt bad about death, for that would be a lie. I must say that it was strange, loosing a friend in such a way. He was not the only friend I lost that day. Semimaru had completely put an end to talking to me, he did not even let me explain to him why I could do nothing about it.

I'm not the type of person to accuse other people for my actions, but I am one to applaud candor. I do, partially, condemn Semimaru for me becoming what I am. For he is the one who went to the Main Surgeon at the hospital used during the war and get my medical license taken away from me. Had he not done that, then many people possibly could have been saved. Maybe not though, maybe this is a personal choice that I made on my own. Maybe I just needed an extra push to become the villain.

I met Mr. No-Brakes at a bookstore in downtown Tokyo. He told me about a job as a transporter, and the rest is all history. Now as for my motive for murder, it is simple. You may think that it is because I just find pleasure and amusement in such a task as taking a life away, but it is more than that. It is purely a mediation device. A way to vent kept up feelings and emotions that I have kept inside for years. It helps me think about what could have happened, what should have happened. It makes me realize and come to except that I am simply, all in all, a monster. A villain. And that is all anyone will ever see in me. No one cares or stops to ask me if I have feelings or not, they just say what they want about me, in front of me, as if I was not even in the room. Do I expect this to change? No. Without a doubt this will continue to appraise me as a miscreation even though they will still judge me for doing what they expect me to do. And that is to kill.


End file.
